all is love...

we've always said that his life should be a screenplay. and not just recently, because things have gotten especially complicated... but always. the man has been living for so long. so. long. he's 93. i've mentioned him once or twice before. big red's dad, my grandpa jim, and he's rapidly declining. though, if you asked him, he'd tell you not fast enough.

i'll save all the really sad and clinical stuff for another day. for now, i'll tell you the story-worthy stories (as they say on the moth). which, in actuality, may be just as sad. this one... not my experience, as told to me by big red herself... there may be a few dramatic liberties taken... but, the gist will be there. promise.

i will try not to burden you

i can hold these inside.

i will hold my breath 

until all these shivers subside,

just look in my eyes.

when my mom arrived at le chateau bleu in burbank last wednesday, she took the elevator up to his floor. when the elevator arrived, he was standing there, in the 6th floor foyer, as though he knew she was on her way up. but he didn't. i have seen things that you will never see. leave it to memory me. he was just standing there, serendipitously, waiting for the elevator to arrive... ski cap on his head, thermal long john's tucked into his dress shoes and rolled over at the waist several times, walker in hand.

he told my mom he was on his way to check out of this shit hotel (symbolic, no?). but, he didn't have any money, so he was planning on selling his walker for $5. that way, he'd have cab fare to get to her house. for, that's where he'd rather be. i will try not to worry you.

it's 2011. a cab ride from burbank to long beach might be a touch over $5. and le bleu chateau is not a hotel, it's an assisted living facility. (truly, it's an amazing facility, and i am so thankful they are taking care of my last living grand-père. check them out. though, i can't without crying... so sappy).

i want you to remember

i need something to fly 

over my grave again

i need something to breathe.

thank the goddesses that my mom had a carl's junior milkshake with her. so, she scooped up grandpa jim and his walker and took him to the lobby to check out. on their way down, they ran into a few of his friends. (the ladies of le bleu chateau have taken a particular liking to old jimmy, obvi). so, the gals and one volunteer stopped to chat with him, which only confused him even more. he ended up asking the volunteer if he could stay at the hotel just one more night. her response? of course, jimmy. you can stay as long as you'd like.

big red is such a champion. she visitis him so often. she tells me these stories. weekly, if not more. and if we didn't know him so well, know how vibrant and opinionated and stubborn and adventurous and independent this man was in his cognizant life, there would be some comedy to all of this. all of this... these people. the woman who speaks only in noises and whistles... like an elderly version of björk. but, this shit is real. and most days, jimmy doesn't know where he is. heart. breaking. but, this is his path right now. and in our cyclical lives, this is his progression. this cruel disease is his progression.

until his stale date finally comes (that's how he puts it), we'll just keep on loving. i will try not to breathe, this decision is mine. i have lived a full life, and these are the eyes that i want you to remember. that's the easy job. my job. big red... christ. the woman is remarkable.

want to learn more about alzheimer's... visit the alzheimer's association. consider making a pledge or volunteering your time.

lyrics by the most brilliant and amazing r.e.m. try not to breathe from automatic for the people. pictures of grandpa jim from our family album. top to bottom: headshot, war clerk, passport photos.

things to never say to me...

you: i don't feel anything.

me: nothing?

you: nope.

me: you don't feel anything, anywhere in your body?

you: no.

me: so, right now, it feels as though your whole body is asleep. and you have to put in absolutely zero effort to keep your arms over your head while leaning half-way back?

you: well. i mean. no. yes.

me: pardon?

you: i mean, i can feel something, but it doesn't feel hard.

the difference between work and effort. work and pain. work and nothing. help.


found this flyer here.

prime rib day...

we here in the guest family really don't know how to follow rules. i know i say that a lot, about myself... but i was realizing how deep this shit really runs. see, i brought my mom to my mat class at aol yesterday. every time i introduce my mom to someone i get one of several responses. 1) your mom is soooo beautiful (duh) 2) your mom is soooooo nice/sweet (yup) 3) are you sure that you came from her?!?!?! (promise, assholes) 4) oh, it's very clear that you are related (my fave). i am an old woman named after my mother. my old man has another child that's grown old.

every time i asked the class to do an exercise that was less pilates-oriented and more mind-body/visceral sphere/noodley movement/who-the-hell-knows, she would make that face that says, ohhhh... honey, this is a good one. we all had a giggle and i think the aol gals realized why i am the way that i am.

anywhoodle. for thanksgiving, we, the guests, had a prime rib rather than a traditional turkey. it was ah. maze. ing.

when my mom asked what we had last year for thanksgiving, i reminded her that we ate turkey at my shitty, underground (literally, not politically) mission apartment. she said, oh, not memorable. i'm glad we're having beef this year.

make me an angel that flies from montgomery. make me a poster of an old rodeo. just give me one thing that i can hold on to.

but, really the best was the turkey prime rib day conversations...

-everything about the history of the financial climate in the united states from the 1960's to today. from the perspective of a recovering republican, honest, sees things in black and white (most of the time), but slowly softening as he gets older, banker... aka tony guest, my dear old dad. it was intense and sometimes i had to gloss over a bit and think about things that i love to not get angry, but then every now and then i would get heated and shout things that sarah lawrence, herself would be proud of... like, if we all just acted like fucking humans and treated each other appropriately and with respect, none of this would be happening. oh, there's so much more to this story, but i might have to save it for now.

-occupy. occupy sf, occupy oakland, occupy davis (i got real emotional about this one), occupy wall street, occupy long beach... wait, what? occupy the lbc is four or five guys on the corner of 7th and park handing out flyers in front of starbucks. 

-the other side of pollution. when i was in the sixth grade, i had to take a speech writing class. every friday we were given a topic and over the weekend we'd all write speeches and present them during the week. one friday we had to write about the perils of pollution. why it was bad, how it was going to kill our world and what we would do to stop it. check, done. i did a great job. but, the following week, the assignment was to write a speech of our choice. any topic we could think of. whaaaaat?! heaven. thank you. i went home and thought of a million things to write about, but how could i ever pick just one?! tony suggested that i write about the other side of pollution. the stories of the people who worked in pollution-generating industries. the people who would lose their jobs if a bunch of sixth graders changed the world and got rid of pollution. basically, i discussed why we needed pollution to promote capitalism, economic growth and job security. oh, layla. my teacher was quite impressed. it caused a stink with the other parents. mr. partington came to my rescue... we had a discussion and he helped me share with stinky parents, sixth graders and uppity administrators that i was presenting information. i did not necessarily agree with the information i was presenting, but wasn't it great that an eleven-year old could remove herself from emotional journalism and present a piece that ignited such controversy. oy, if he only knew how emotional my writing would become. dear, dear mr. partington. how the hell can a person go to work in the morning. and come home in the evening and have nothing to say.

-several times my mom shouted time out. sometimes in reference to our conversations, but other times to get some help in the kitchen. there's flies in the kitchen. i can hear 'em buzzing. and i ain't done nothing since i woke up today.

-grandpa jim. he called after our meal. he's not well. very. not. well. he asked my mom to come pick him up and take him home. when she told him she couldn't he asked if she would just come pick him up and take him to her office at the newspaper. huh? (big red has never worked at a newspaper). when i was a young girl well, i had me a cowboy. he weren't much to look at, just a free rambling man. she cried. i listened. but that was a long time and no matter how hard i try. the years just flow by like a broken down dam.

all in all, it was a successful day of being thankful. we listened to great records and just loved each other. big red and i did some pilates after my dad went back to the hotel. then we snuggled for a bit. that's my favorite part. maybe next year a barbecued salmon.

brilliant words by john prine, angel from montgomery. check out bonnie raitt's cover of it, though. it's why i love the poetry of the song so much. 

m. 1.

i don't think i've told you yet about m. he is one of my clients. he is essentially the client. i see him every day... monday through friday. yes. he spends more time with me than any other human on the planet. currently. that may change when the wood business picks up. more on that later.

m says things. all sorts of things. but, here's what you need. to. know. m is functionally autistic. he's 63. he had a job once. for about a week in his early 20's. he wasn't so into it, so he quit. he's good at coming up with ideas. so, that's what he does. sort of. he's been to federal prison at least once, and is currently under indictment along with his two sons and another fellow. details, details.

here's the thing. m says the most amazing things. also, sometimes the most annoying/frustrating things. i'll tell you as many as i can remember. over time, of course. patience my darlings... (i've been working on that a lot lately. personal life matters are changing and i'm becoming better at being patient, which... i think may help this relationship last. shit, it's hard though. i digress... more on all that later).

i think i have a wider gap between my mind and my body than most. if my mind could go one place and my body another, they probably wouldn't know the difference.

ya dudes. we'll start with that. oh, and this... he created his own major: experimental philosophy and symbolic logic. when i asked him about it... anything to avoid reality.

so, my dears. perhaps look forward to some more m-isms. they keep me pretty well entertained. also, he's trying to help me figure out how to avoid paying back my student loans. i appreciate that.

steve zissou found here. nighty-night ya'll. i've been happy for four days in a row now. do it with me. xoxo. i love you.